


A Hell of a Day

by BecauseFanfictionThough



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Children, Cute, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluffy, Gotham, Love, Marriage, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform, day home, oswald - Freeform, weekend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseFanfictionThough/pseuds/BecauseFanfictionThough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald’s at work and you’re home on the weekend taking care of of your three children: a six-year-old that stayed up past her bedtime, an eight-year old with a stomach bug, and a pre-teen boy. It’s one hell of a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hell of a Day

“Mommy, I want three braids.”

You sighed and looked down at the two perfectly even sections of hair you had just finished separating on the six-year-old’s head. Her curly hair lay flat against her scalp up until the two rubber bands that held them in pigtails. After the rubber bands it lay in spirals all the way down to her armpits, shiny and black.

“Honey, if I do three braids it won’t be even,” you pointed out to your daughter. The whining started immediately, just as you’d expected. Ella had stayed up until almost one in the morning the night before, using the book light her father had gotten her for her birthday to read. You hadn’t caught her and taken the light away until you woke up in the night to use to bathroom. A sleep-deprived six-year-old was never easy to handle. You felt slightly bad for thinking it, but you kind of wished it wasn’t a weekend and she had school today. You already had to deal with Elijah being sick regardless.

“I want three!” Ella whined. “When I do hair when I get big I’m gonna give everyone three and I WANT THREE!”  
As you opened your mouth to speak a cry rose up from down the hallway, “Momma!”

You told Ella to stay put as you stood up off of her bed and stepped around where she sat on the floor in front of you, leaving her to sniffle by herself. You walked to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door. Your heart sunk and your stomach clenched. Elijah had a stomach bug and even though you had put a waste basket next to his bed, he hadn’t managed to lean over in time. The piece of toast and cup of orange juice you had managed to make him eat that morning was splashed across his blue comforter. At eight years old he looked exactly like his father, which made it that much more pathetic to see him there, wispy black hair hung limp over his forehead, blue eyes overflowing with tears that fell past his pointed nose and saliva-coated chin down onto his vomit-soaked lap.

You hurried to him, carefully folding the blanket over itself so the puke was trapped inside and instructing, “Strip down and give me your clothes then go wait in the bathroom, Elijah, Sweetie.”

Still sniffling, your sick little boy did as he was told, unbuttoning his pajama top and handing it to you along with his bottoms before turning to go to the bathroom. You piled his pajamas with his blanket and took his pillowcases and sheets just for good measure, you had extras in the linen closet to replace them with. You set the pile down beside the bathroom door and went in to start running a bath for Elijah while he used toilet paper to wipe his face clean. You stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.  
“You can add bubbles if you want, okay Baby Bird?” You purposely used the nickname he loved. When he was younger you would call him Baby Bird and call his father Big Bird and Elijah would dissolve into a fit of giggles, shrieking out, “But Momma! He’s not yellow!” Now a small smile creased his face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but it made you feel better to see it.

You turned and left the room, calling to Ella that you would be back in a second. With the dirty laundry back in your arms you went down the stairs, through the living room and through the kitchen to the laundry room. You dropped the laundry on top of the washing machine and leaned down to pull it open.

A shriek flew out of your throat when a body came toppling out of the machine and onto the floor.

“Edward Gordon Cobblepot! What are you doing?” You demanded.

Eddy had more of your features. His hair was curly and short, his nose small and his eyes a dark brown. He looked up at you now with a sheepish grin on his face. He raised the walkie talkie that was in his hand to show you—another birthday present from Oswald.

“We were pretending we were in space pods shooting aliens,” the twelve-going-on-thirteen-year-old explained.

“We?” You asked, eyes widening.

The door to the dryer swung open then and halfway out crawled the neighbors’ child, Damien. One hand flat to the floor, one hand holding the second walkie talkie and his legs still inside the dryer so he was in plank-position.

“Hey there Mrs. C!” Chirped the shaggy-haired redhead boy.

Your hand raised to rub one of your temples. You started to load the washer with the things that were covered in vomit first, leaving the sheets for later.

“Do your parents know where you are?” You asked.

“’Course they do, Mrs. C! Even if they didn’t, I turned thirteen last week. I’m old enough to do what I want.” Damien said cheekily.

You couldn’t help but smirk at the ridiculous child’s cocky demeanor while you called his bluff, “Oh yeah? So you won’t mind saying that to your mother when I call her?”

Damien’s face dropped and Eddy finally pulled himself off from the floor. “We’ll go make sure she knows Mom, sheesh.”

“Excuse you?” You gave your oldest child a hard stare for the attitude in his voice.

Eddy blushed. “Sorry,” he muttered, then motioned for his friend to follow him and they trotted out of the room. The front door slammed a moment later.

 

“Momma!”

 

How long had you been downstairs? Too long apparently. Quick as a flash you took off back through the kitchen, and the living room, and up the stairs to the bathroom.

“I told her not to!” You comprehended Elijah’s voice before you comprehended what you were see. Elijah had turned off the water but still sat in a tub full of bubbles that went up to his chin with water spread across the floor, nearly reaching the door. Meanwhile, standing in the pond that was now the bathroom floor was Ella: Scissors in her right hand, two perfectly sectioned off pigtails now detached from her head and in her left hand.

Your eyes flickered towards the clock on the bathroom wall. It was only ten in the morning. You had seven hours at the very least before Oswald would be home. You already wanted to go to bed. 

“Ella Gertrude Cobblepot, throw away your hair and go to your room!” You demanded.

Ella started to cry once again, dropping her hair onto the wet floor and running out of the room. You took off your slippers and rolled up the pant legs of your pajama bottoms, realizing just then that you hadn’t even had a chance to get yourself dressed for the day yet. The first thing you noticed when you stepped into the water on the bathroom floor was that it was freezing cold. Your eyes went wide as you looked at your son.

“Sweetie, did I accidentally turn on the cold water?” You asked. You just then noticed his teeth chattering as he nodded. You had no capacity for noticing details today. “Christ, Elijah, get out of there,” you said.

Elijah stood up and climbed out of the bathtub, his body tinted slightly blue and his underwear still on his body.

“Why didn’t you take off your underwear?” You asked incredulously as you grabbed your fluffy white robe from the back of the door and wrapped him in it while picking him up and carrying him out of the bathroom.

“Because Ella wouldn’t leave and I didn’t want her to see my peanuts,” Elijah answered, matter-of-factly.

You gave a chuckle with as much amusement as you could muster at that point while bringing him to your bedroom and wrapping him up in yours and Oswald’s comforter. He snuggled back onto the pillows, the fabric soaking up the water from his hair immediately.

You hurried to the linen closet and took all of the towels from it, taking them to the bathroom and starting to clean up the wet mess. Ella’s hair stuck to your hands when you got around to cleaning it up, long strands refusing to leave your palms as you tried to throw it away. You were mental fuming and trying to hold it together. You were normally so much more put together than this, today just wasn’t your day.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to clean the bathroom, drain the tub, and start to refill it with warm water this time, and bring the soaked towels down to the laundry room. When you got back upstairs and the bathtub was halfway full you heard a sound that nearly pushed you over the edge: The sound of liquid splashing, followed by a sob. Every part of you wanted to shut yourself in the bathroom and pretend nothing was happening but that wasn’t an option.

You rushed out of the bathroom to your bedroom to see exactly what you’d expected: your blanket and your robe both soaked with Elijah’s stomach bile. Just like last time, you stripped him, stripped your bed, and sent him to take a bath, stopping to turn off the bath water and make sure it was the right temperature before going downstairs. The first load was still spinning in the washer so you had to leave your blanket and robe beside the machine and all of the towels before going back upstairs. With Elijah in a warm bath, playing with toy boats, you went to grab the scissors from the cabinet only to have a terrifying fact dawn on you: You’d made Ella leave her hair, not the scissors.

Down the hall you dashed to see your little girl sitting on her bed, some chunks of her hair still four inches long and other cut to just one or two.

“Honey, no!” You cried, hurrying to take the scissors away from her. You checked her head, making sure she hadn’t cut herself. You didn’t assume she had, considering the fact that she wasn’t crying, but you wanted to be sure. You couldn’t believe you’d been so careless. “Well, so much for three-braids. We can’t even do one now.” It hadn’t occurred to you that this fact hadn’t occurred to her and you were met with more cries as you sat her down on the floor and evened out the mess she had made. With her hair so short it hardly curled and twenty minutes later she had something resembling a pixie cut. You found one of her flowered headbands and slid it into place on top of her head. She could be bald and she’d still be adorable. You were just scared she wouldn’t like it. You finally caught a break however when she started giggling at her reflection in her bedroom mirror.

“I look like Eddy!” She squealed with glee and you had to admit, she really did.

The sound of the telephone ringing cut through the air and you scooped up Ella in your arms, going downstairs to answer it.

“Hello?” You answered as you set the little girl down on the kitchen counter.

“Hi, _________, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’ve seen Damien…” It was Mrs. Gorelli from next door.

“He didn’t go home? I sent him and Eddy to go tell you he was at our house. I—“ A thought struck you and you sighed into the phone. “I think I know where they might be. Go check your washer and dryer.”

Sure enough, you could hear from your end of the phone as Mrs. Gorelli scolded the boys about the dangers of playing inside laundry equipment and sending Damien to his room.

“I’ll see you at book club tomorrow?” Mrs. Gorelli asked, which really just was code for you, her, and three other women from the neighborhood escaping your children to drink wine.

“After my day? Absolutely,” you chuckled into the phone, patting the head of Ella who was using her hand as a pretend phone so she could have a conversation as well.

You switched the laundry as you made the children lunch. Eddy ate Elijah’s sandwich and his own, neither of the boys touched their fruit, and Ella got more on the floor than in her mouth. As you sent them all off to do as they wished and started cleaning up the mess underneath the table a feeling struck you. Your lower jaw tensed and your stomach clenched, and you found yourself with your face in the kitchen garbage can, heaving up the little bit of food you’d had time to get down that day.

“Damnit. No, no, no, no, no…” You muttered to yourself. You’d caught whatever Elijah had, which meant it was only a matter of time before the other ones had it. You cleaned your mouth with a paper towel and leaned against the sink as you slowly sipped a glass of water. With your stomach empty you were instantly hungry again which you resented because Elijah could hardly eat a bite, and here you were already craving pizza, or a burger, or anything deep fried.

This was why you were gaining weight. Maybe that’s why Oswald had been working so much lately, he’d noticed you were getting bigger and gaining that Mom weight from your only workout being chasing your children around and never having time to think before you ate because that might mean you didn’t have time to eat at all.

This was it. This was how your marriage ended. You couldn’t manage your children, and you couldn’t manage your weight, and you couldn’t manage your life.

You carried yourself to the couch in the living room, you were exhausted already and it was barely past noon and you were still in your pajamas. You curled up on one of the cushions, you head leaned to the side. You’d just rest for two seconds, you told yourself and you tried to push away the tears before one of the children came and saw. You’d just rest for two seconds, and then you’d get back to pretending you had everything under control.

 

You gasped, your eyes opening wide, filled with the panic that comes with realizing you’ve fallen asleep when you didn’t mean to. Outside the window behind the couch you could see that the sun was setting which meant you’d been asleep for hours. You eyes still felt puffy and you immediately wanted to start crying again. You tried to jump up from the couch but couldn’t quite get to your feet. Somebody had covered you with a blanket and tucked you in. You pulled the blanket off of yourself, noticing the pillow that had been placed behind you as well and went through the doorway into the dining room.

You stopped in your tracks immediately, your heart swelling. Oswald sat at the head of the table with Elijah and Ella to his left and Eddy to his right. He grinned when he saw you come in and stood, rounding the table to hug you.

“Looks like you had a tiring morning,” He laughed.

Your face flushed red. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.” Your eyes were brimming with tears again, “I’m the worst mother. I put Elijah in cold water, and I left Ella with scissors, and I lost Eddy. God, and I left vomit-soaked laundry next to the washer, I’ve got to—“

“Mom, chill,” Eddy laughed but he fell silent when Oswald scowled at him. “I mean, it’s okay Mom. I finished the laundry for you.”

“And I tucked you in!” Ella piped up, bouncing in her seat.

“And I feel better now so I made dinner!” Elijah added.

You looked at the kitchen table and with tears still falling down your face you dissolved into laughter. A gigantic salad bowl filled with milk and fruity pebbles sat in the center of the table with a ladle in it, and every seat had a plate with toast on it set at it.

Oswald kissed your temple as he placed an arm around your waist. “Our children are rather perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

“They’re rather something,” you smiled at them.

“Maybe we should add a fourth,” Oswald muttered into your ear teasingly and you immediately shook your head, rolling your eyes.

“Oh yes, I definitely want to take care of three children while dealing with morning sickness and raging hormones. That sounds like a walk in the par—“ Your words caught in your throat.

For the millionth time that day you found yourself racing up the stairs to the bathroom, tearing apart the drawers in the room until you found what you were looking for.

 

“Oswald!” You yelled from the bathroom five minutes later, seated on the closed lid of the toilet.

You could hear the thuds of your husband’s footsteps on the stairs as he rushed to you, flinging the bathroom door open when he reached it.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly you held up the pregnancy test with the tiny blue plus sign on it. Oswald’s face dropped, and then lit up as he hurried to you, grabbing your face and kissing you deeply. When he pulled away you grinned, crying once again.

“I thought I was just getting fat, and gross, and going crazy,” you sobbed happily.

“Stop it,” Oswald held your face in his hands firmly. “You’re perfect.” He kissed you again. “My men can handle things tomorrow. I’ll stay home with the children and send you out for a massage, how does that sound?”

You leaned up giving Oswald a peck on the cheek before wiping your face dry. “It sounds like you’re in for a hell of a day.”


End file.
